


Let Me Peer Inside

by queuedepoisson



Series: The Vintage Whore Collection [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Angst, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Prostitution, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1859199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queuedepoisson/pseuds/queuedepoisson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a soft smile and a squeeze of his hand, Bucky nodded.  "You're a good kid, Steve."</p>
<p>"You're better than you think, Buck."</p>
<p>Bucky couldn't understand how Steve could still say that about him after everything he had done. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A pre-war AU based on one shift in the timeline: Steve's parents didn't die, but Bucky's did.  They never meet in the orphanage and their lives are on very different paths when they first meet.  But still, Steve is so damn good.</p>
<p>Third in a series: May 1938</p>
<p>Happier feels.  Mostly.  This may have started as Plot What Plot? but I have to accept it is Porn With Plot.  Also, it does seem like this series will be going on indefinitely for quite awhile based on the current outline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Peer Inside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alchemistique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemistique/gifts).



> Much closer to the every two week goal! Although World Cup, conventions, and birthdays will make it hard to get Part 4 up in such a tight window, it is already in rough draft, so no worries.
> 
> Mat, Kelty, and Emily are my dream team of awesome help, from plot mapping to improving details to grammar and copy editing. I'm glad they put up with all my bugging them constantly, since my brain is churning over this universe way too much of the time.
> 
> Title is from Heart's A Mess - Gotye

Steve stayed close to the wall as he took his time down the stairs, fellow students rushing past him to get on with their day. It was embarrassing being left behind like that, but it was nothing compared to how mortifying a full-on asthma attack from trying to keep up would be. The way his school bag, loaded with textbooks and half-full sketchpads, weighed on his shoulder did not help his speed. The leather on the bag was starting to wear thin on one of the corners, but he'd find something to patch it up with before asking his parents to replace it, even though they would. Going to a place like this was a bit more dear to his family than for most of the other kids who went there, rebelling against parents who would have rather they stayed closer to home at Columbia and Barnard. They somehow imagined that crossing the East River made them more like their Montparnasse idols.

As soon as he stepped outside, he was grateful he hadn't stressed his lungs racing downstairs. Otherwise, his heart would have been racing far too fast when it happened. It was dangerous enough as it was. Steve spotted a familiar figure leaning against the brick building, right outside the front gate on the other side of the modest courtyard. The first hint of recognition was the way he held his cigarette. He was wearing a tweed cap pulled down over his eyes to block the afternoon sun, but some of those strands of dark hair escaped anyway. His white cotton shirt was dirty, soaked with sweat and stained with black grease. The working man attire looked out of place around the Joe College types that walked past him in their oxford button downs and lightweight suits.

Once he got past his initial shock, Steve moved on to anger. Three Fridays had come and gone since the last time he saw Bucky. He thought about going back to look for him the next weekend or the one after that but he couldn't handle going back to that club or any club really. As it was, he would go the extra block to Henry when he walked home from school instead of taking Hicks like he used to. Instead of walking by where they - where Bucky had run away from him. That was the easier way to think about it and he had spent a lot of time thinking about it, trying to figure out how he felt. But how was he supposed to figure anything out about what was going on when Bucky kept disappearing like that? How was he supposed to react to the way he kept reappearing, just to upset Steve all over again?

The school was less crowded than normal as the semester winded down, most students busy in studio or working at home, but someone still slammed into Steve's shoulder as they walked into the building and knocked him aside. To be fair, he had stopped cold right outside one of the doors. The impact jolted him out of his daze and Steve knew he needed to make up his mind. He could walk right by Bucky, sore enough to cut him dead like he didn't see him. But what if the kid needed him or was in some kind of trouble? He shook his head in defeat at his own thoughts. Fighting with someone who had gotten so far under his skin was useless.

Resolutely, Steve put one foot in front of the other, crossing the small courtyard and passing through the gate. Despite his best attempts at confidence, he chewed his lip as he walked up to Bucky. It was a relief when Bucky spoke up first, putting his cigarette out against the brick wall he reclined on.

"You know, with the number of winks I've gotten standing here waiting for you, I wouldn't worry too much about your friends having an issue with your, uh, choice in company." He peeked up at Steve from under the brim of his cap. "But there might some assumptions about us leaving here together after I've been waiting."

Maybe it was something Steve should worry about, but he didn't see the need to. "It's not like I have a lot of friends here, just classmates." He tried not to stare at the ground but he pulled on the bottom of his sweater self-consciously as he said it. His budget didn't allow for wearing a suit everyday to class like the majority of the guys at his college.

"You don't think anyone looks at you, but you don't know." Bucky wore that damn convincing smile that could charm the birds from the trees and Steve wished he was angrier. "I see things you don't."

The smile faltered for a brief second, letting an uncomfortable pause set in. Then Bucky said, "Let me walk you home."

_Walk him home_. That sounded exactly like the kind of thing that was covered by the "It's Not Like That" talk he got from Bucky last time, but now he was the one acting like he needed to woo someone. Steve gave a noncommittal shrug, an amateur attempting to play it cool, and started down the sidewalk.

Bucky pushed off the wall and shoved his hands in his pocket, falling into step next to Steve. If he noticed anything about the different route, he didn't bring it up. Instead, he stuck with what basically added up to idle chatter.

"Class go well?"

"It's class," Steve replied tersely. His jaw clenched wondering how far his small talk tolerance could last before he got an explanation. Bucky was acting like this was a usual thing, not the first time he had seen him in weeks after that bewildering night. But the silence was worse.

"Seen any movies?"

Steve's loaded question hung in the air between them for a few seconds, a small jab taken from their last conversation. He was aware that what he asked could be taken in multiple ways - was Bucky paying more attention to the newsreels about the war now, did Bucky go on normal dates to the movies with people who weren’t him, had he done that with someone else since last time? - but he wouldn't admit which one he hoped Bucky would answer.

Bucky pressed his lips into a tight-lipped smile and ducked his head, making it clear he heard each of the silent implications, but he didn't address any of those questions now. "Nah, I've been working a lot at the docks."

Steve didn't ask which kind of work. In fact, he didn't ask anything else and focused solely on getting home as fast as possible, his discomfort and ire growing.

Once they turned on to Montague, Bucky knew he didn't have much longer. "Um, d'ja get back safe that night?" he managed to mumble out. He futzed uncomfortably with his hat, pulling it off and back on.

"Yeah, it was fine," Steve admitted, then bitterly added: "But it'd have been nice to not be alone."

Bucky let out an exasperated sigh and started rambling. "Alright, alright, I get it. I've got it coming, I was an ass. I was. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left like that. I wouldn't be surprised if you regret ever helping me. You just have to understand…"

Steve cut him short and turned to face him, raising his voice fiercely. "No, I don't regret it. And no, I don't have to understand. I get knocked around enough by everyone else, I don't have to take it from my friend." His chest heaved from the outburst and his rapid walking pace, fast enough that they were already at his building. Bucky could have bore a hole in the pavement before he met Steve's eyes and with that, Steve finally lost his patience.

Steve headed up the front steps in a huff when Bucky caught his wrist. "Your friend?"

Steve looked back at Bucky, all of a sudden showing just how very young he was. Steve's voice came out much quieter and calmer now, his rage vented. "Yes. My friend. I don't ask you questions and miss talking to you because of," he hushed to a whisper, "that stuff." He let out a heavy sigh, releasing his frustration and confusion to get to the simplest part of his feelings. "You need a friend, so do I."

Bucky walked up the steps to the one below, letting Steve remain slightly above him, and put his hand around Steve's neck. Steve moved his hand to Bucky's forearm, and Bucky leaned forward, foreheads together. He closed his eyes tightly.

"Okay, okay. You're right."

Steve pulled away, enough that he could tilt Bucky's chin up with his fingers, appearing just to the safe side of platonic. Bucky opened his eyes, no quip waiting for once. "You'll come up?"

Bucky nodded and followed him through the door.

 

 

Their walk up the stairs was slower than last time, Steve carrying his school books and Bucky weighed down by his thoughts. It gave him time to think without Steve looking at him in a way that made all the words fall out of his head. He had come back to apologize and he had, sort of. Beyond that, he was at a loss for what came next, maybe working something out with Steve to see him more often. Bucky had always been thrown off by the idea of regulars and how their expectations grew, but this wasn't like that and he needed to turn that part of him off. Not everything was about how to get another dollar, no matter what it cost him.

Bucky forced himself to look up at the skinny, towheaded kid a few steps above him, who had him breaking all the rules he lived by to survive. Steve was, at the very least, his friend now, not a customer or a client or a mark or a john. Maybe more, but that was getting ahead of himself. He wasn't sure how either one of them could handle that, with the way their lives worked. But friends could be enough.

Everything was the same in the one-room apartment as before, although sunlight was streaming in through the windows and across the bed in a way it hadn't the day of the storm. Steve set down his satchel with his school supplies on the couch and headed into the kitchen. Bucky stood awkwardly, turning his hat over and over in his hands in the middle of the room and rocking on his heels.

Their conversation outside had ended so abruptly and he found himself in completely unfamiliar territory. When Steve handed him a glass of water, he took it gratefully and clinked it against the glass Steve had filled for himself. Bucky tried multiple times to say something else, taking a deep breath and then coming out with nothing. They stood there uncomfortably until Steve walked over to his bed and sat on the edge.

Bucky followed suit and they sat there, thighs grazing each other, both sipping their water and staring ahead. It frustrated the hell out of Bucky how things seemed to be getting harder, not easier, with each step closer to a normal friendship. The longer they sat, the more anxious he got from the quiet, and he started to feel like he was the one who was going to have an asthma attack. He looked out the window, but then remembered there was no view except a brick wall. Eyes desperately searching for something to focus on, he eventually looked down at the bed. Steve's hand on the mattress. It had bits of smudged charcoal from school. He ran his fingertips, cool from holding the glass, over the back of Steve's hand.

Steve half-smiled when he looked down at their hands together. He was doing what they, or at least Bucky, had been too afraid to do in the automat. Steve turned his palm up and wrapped his fingers around Bucky's, rubbing his thumb across the knuckles, scraped up from different fights and manual labor. It all seemed so much safer when they were here. Even Bucky's breathing seemed to come easier as soon as they were touching.

The contact relaxed some of the tension in the room and Steve broke the silence. "I'm sorry I cut you off before. Can we… do you want to talk about the other night?"

Bucky couldn't trust himself to meet Steve's eyes _and_ express how he felt at the same time. "I meant it when I said I was sorry. Sorry for storming off without even giving you a good reason. Sorry about pushing things too far. Sorry about not just taking you up on the offer to come home with you in the first place. Sorry about jumping out of my skin in the diner. Sorry I wasn't there with you to keep you from getting in that damn stupid fight in the first place…" Bucky's voice faltered the more he rambled.

Steve stopped him with a laugh. "You don't have to go that far. I mean, the night wasn't all terrible. Especially that last part, right up til you ran off. It was a bit scary doing something like that but - " Steve's face reddened from the chest up at the memory. He took another sip of water to hide his face and maybe cool down.

"What you mean is that it was a bit dirty and you liked it." Bucky wore a self-satisfied smirk when Steve coughed lightly on the liquid.

"Yeah, well… maybe." Steve started to backpedal, that flustered look Bucky was so amused by on his face. "But it's up to you if you want to do that kind of thing anymore together. It always was."

With a soft smile and a squeeze of his hand, Bucky nodded. "You're a good kid, Steve."

"You're better than you think, Buck."

Bucky couldn't understand how Steve could still say that about him after everything he had done. He wanted to tell Steve how wrong he was, the words bubbling up in him, but he bit his lip to hold them back and squeezed his eyes shut. What if instead, he tried believing him?

He thought back to what Steve had said: that while he didn't need that stuff, he did like it.  Steve hadn't known the things Bucky had been thinking while on his knees and if he had, he never would have gone along with it. How could Bucky blame anyone but himself after all he done to hide it? It made him wonder if he had been lying to Steve or to himself about his feelings when he instigated things like that. The strategy to put on a show, to act rash and impulsive, was so deeply ingrained in him that even when everything inside himself felt the opposite, when he felt scared and vulnerable, he wondered if he could tell the difference anymore.

He finally was able to meet Steve's eyes again, a clear light blue. They had unraveled him standing on the steps. When anyone else looked at him, he felt like he was barely there, an object or a nuisance. When Steve looked at him, Bucky saw something more than he ever thought he was reflected back at him. He was afraid if he held the look any longer, he'd ruin everything by crying or something equally ridiculous.

"Uh, you mind if I use your washroom?" He hastily stood up and pulled his hand back, feeling a bit cornered and exposed. "Like a short bath or whatever, just enough to wash up. I haven't really had a real place to stay for awhile. Looking and smelling like this, you don't even want me sitting on your bed."

Steve's breath caught in his throat when Bucky broke their touch but he hurriedly regained his composure. "Oh, um sure. Let me get you a few towels from the closet." The ones he handed Bucky weren't plush, but they were soft from long-term wear. He took them gratefully with a bow of his head and headed to the bathroom.

Steve shouted after him. "There should be some new razor blades in the cabinet. And a bar of Ivory next to the sink."

Bucky grinned and set his water glass down on the pedestal sink. It was starting to feel like the first time he was here again, Steve's nervous talking and everything. They would find some way to work this out. "Thanks. I'll be quick about it."

 

 

Steve stared at the closed bathroom door for a minute before shaking himself out of his daze. Losing his temper on the steps, asking him to come in, holding hands. He couldn't believe none of it had ended in disaster after he had been ready for the worst. Their conversations came in fits and starts but sometimes it felt so utterly natural. But if nothing bad had happened, why was he still so anxious? He paced a few steps, to the kitchen to put the water down, to the far window to look down at the street, and then back to the bed. Now that his hands were empty, he could wring them freely. Limited pacing space was definitely a problem with one room apartments.

He was doing everything he could to think about the here and now, but his imagination overpowered him and kept replaying the night they had last been together. He had been excited, thrilled even, by what had happened. He felt strong as Bucky let him hold him in place like that, let him thrust into his mouth. He couldn't wait to get home and return the gesture somehow. Then just like that, Bucky disappeared and Steve was left feeling empty and alone.

He toed his shoes off nervously and fidgeted with the button on his cuff. He considered getting his sketchbook, but Bucky said he wouldn't be long and all he could think about was drawing him anyway, not some class assigned still life.

In his attempts to stop thinking about Bucky on his knees in that stairwell, Steve managed to make it even worse, thinking of Bucky undressed on the other side of the door, under the water. He was supposed to be a good friend. Unfortunately, it didn't take much effort to recall Bucky's naked form even after the two months since he had seen it in the flesh, so to speak. In the days following the snowstorm, he had tried to remember enough of what he saw in the dark to sketch him. Those distinctly un-friend-like thoughts meant he needed a plan to deal with the growing stiffness in his pants. The best plan he could come up with was to ignore it until Bucky was gone and take care of it in the same tub that he was naked in right now. Goddamn circular logic.

He heard the water turn off and unconsciously held his breath, willing himself to calm down. Steve was the kind of guy who entered and exited the bathroom fully clothed when bathing, only undressing while the door was locked. Because of that, he wasn't prepared when the door swung open and out came Bucky with a towel slung low around his hips, using another to roughly dry his wet hair.

"Thanks. It's almost summer now and lashing is sweaty work." Steve didn't hear a word.

Bucky walked right up to him sitting on the bed and slid his hand around Steve's neck, thumb on his jaw. Steve was in a trance with Bucky's bare chest right in front of him, sun pouring across his muscles. By the time he thought to look up at Bucky instead of conspicuously memorizing his body, Bucky was already leaning down to kiss him.

When their lips met, Steve's hands drifted to Bucky's waist to steady himself, resting on the bare still-damp skin only inches above the towel. Concentrating on anything but their hands and lips and tongues was impossible with the way Bucky's mouth explored his so completely. Steve could swear Bucky was as nervous and eager as he was, that something felt different. Bucky advanced further, sliding him down on the bed before crawling on top, his knees on either side of Steve's hips. The towel hit the floor, but the noise sounded like it was a world away to Steve.

His clothes were getting wet but he didn't care. Especially since Bucky was quickly removing them, hands moving frantically over his chest. They reluctantly had to break the kiss long enough for Bucky to sit up and pull Steve's thin sweater off of him. When Bucky leaned back over him, he started kissing along his neck instead as he unbuttoned Steve's shirt. In short breaths, Bucky asked, "This is okay?"

Steve's fingers dug into Bucky's naked back as he tried to exercise some fraction of self control. "Depends, why are you doing it?"

Bucky halted his unbuttoning and moved so he could look Steve in the eye. "Because I barely know you and you're still the best person I've ever met. You're kind, you're good looking as hell, and I want to." Bucky's voice shook as he said it, but his eyes told Steve he was completely serious for once.

"Okay, then, yeah," is all Steve managed to stammer out before pulling Bucky into another desperate kiss. Steve awkwardly scooted back across the bed, bringing his legs up and pulling Bucky along with him. Bucky felt hot under Steve's hands as he tried to explore every inch of skin he could reach. They had never been this close together before, not even the first time, and all he wanted was to hold him even tighter against his chest when Bucky slipped between his arms.

It unnerved him how fast Bucky could undo a belt and his fly, but as he was lifting his hips so Bucky could pull his pants off, he couldn't care why. Steve's hands were pulling off the last layers of his clothing but his mind was on what Bucky said and how much he wished they were still kissing. Bucky could compliment him all he wanted, but what mattered were those last three words. That he wanted to, that he wanted Steve, that he wasn't doing this out of some misplaced sense of obligation or settling a debt.

Bucky worked Steve's underwear off too and now with no clothes in the way, their lips and bodies crushed together again. Steve's fingers worked their now-familiar way into Bucky's damp hair, but clenched into fists when he felt Bucky's cock slide against his own. He was hard already when Bucky came to the edge of the bed but it was nothing compared to now, grinding against him, already leaking on to his stomach. Bucky pressed back firmly, making the slightest gyration until Steve moaned against his mouth.

It felt decadent to Steve, doing this practically in the middle of the day. He worried briefly if he should have turned the radio on to cover the noise. Many of his neighbors would be at work and the street noise would cover it, he hoped. He was trying to think of anything else to stop from going over the edge already.

With that in mind, he shifted his hands from Bucky's hair to his hips, slowing down to soft, gentle kisses before guiding him to the bed. Bucky followed his motions willingly and let Steve roll him onto his back, pulling Steve on top of him as they swapped places. With his legs on either side of Bucky, Steve relive that rush of control he felt in their last encounter.

He ran his hands over Bucky's chest, shining in the light with small drops of water and sweat. His muscles were lean but deeply cut from physical labor, the only hair on him below his navel. It led his gaze and his hands directly to Bucky's cock, stroking him and running his fingers over the head teasingly. Bucky's hips thrust and he whimpered but when the whimpers grew to a moan, Steve leaned forward to quiet him with another kiss.

Desperate for more friction, they rutted against each other, kissing sloppily and urgently. Bucky's hands found their way into Steve's hair, over his shoulders, and eventually around his hips, anchoring Steve in place as his breathing sped up. Steve was trying to support his weight and touch Bucky anywhere and everywhere at the same time, alternating the arm he propped himself up with. He knew he couldn't sustain the position for much longer, but how Bucky looked up at him made his stomach flip, and even that rush didn't compare to the greedy way Bucky gripped him and wanted more of him.

When Bucky's fingers moved from Steve's hips to wrapping around his cock, the sensation was too much and he fell into Bucky's chest with a low moan. Bucky let Steve thrust into his hand, wreaked sounds muffled against his shoulder, before turning him over on his back. One hand stayed clasped around Steve's waist to keep him balanced, just off-centered enough that he still had access to Bucky's cock.

Steve's head laid against the pillow as Bucky covered his neck in indulgent, sucking kisses. He reached for Bucky's cock, sliding his thumb over the head, wet and slick, and then down the shaft. In this position, stroking each other, Steve could hear every breath from Bucky, every hushed curse and swallowed groan.

Nothing, however, prepared him for when he heard him whisper Steve's name over and over again before getting right against his ear, followed by "I'm going to come." Steve's whole body went taut, except for his hand, moving furiously now. He didn't know how Bucky kept his own hand going on Steve's cock as he began to lose control. Steve felt Bucky's hips lift up, pushing against his ass, right before his release.

Hearing his own name like that drove him right to the edge and feeling Bucky come finished him. He reached back and dug his nails into Bucky's ass as it took over him. He couldn't control himself and had no idea how loud he was, but it was enough that Bucky's free hand went over his mouth as he shot.

They laid there in a pile of sweat and heaving breaths for quite awhile. Steve slid off of Bucky and back onto the bed. Bucky moved the hand that had covered his mouth at that critical moment to a spot on Steve's chest, protectively holding him close.

Leaning over to whisper into Steve's ear conspiratorily, Bucky said, "At least we know where a towel is instead of the sheet this time." Steve released a loud bark of laughter, the euphoria from his orgasm coursing through him.

Bucky moved as little as possible to pick the towel off the floor and hand it to Steve. Once he had wiped off both his hand and stomach, Bucky used it for the same. Satisfied they weren't going to make a mess of the bed, Bucky shifted to his side so he could wrap Steve in a tight embrace. It didn't take long before Steve twisted to face towards him instead of away.

He looked up at Bucky with a warm smile. "I can't believe you."

"Well, the feeling's mutual," Bucky teased.

"I mean, its not even dark out," Steve blurted out somewhat scandalized.

"Oh, I thought you meant how I took you from never having been kissed," Bucky said, baiting him into a reaction. When Steve went to interrupt him about the fact that he had kissed someone, just not like that, Bucky merely raised his eyebrows tauntingly and finished, "to moaning so loudly when you came that I had to cover your mouth." He used this as an excuse to kiss him again, soft and chaste.

"Yeah, well, what did you mean?"

 

 

Bucky pulled Steve in close against his chest so he could avoid eye contact without feeling too guilty. Any kind of seriousness was difficult for him and he wasn't in the habit of bearing his feelings.

"I really am sorry I ran off. Both times. I've never," Bucky halted, wondering how many more times he could bail out from a difficult conversation with Steve, changing the subject or literally running away. "I've never depended on anyone else, at least not in a really long time." He loosened his arms around Steve's shoulders and tried to meet his eyes. "It's hard to believe you are the way you are sometimes. People like you don't exist in real life."

Steve shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm real, just been waiting for somebody over here in Brooklyn to notice, I guess."

"Well, there's your problem." Bucky hugged him tightly again and buried his face in Steve's hair to hide the bitter grin he couldn't hold back. "You were just waiting, instead of crossing the river and finding the someone who would have noticed. Only a subway ride away, you know."

"You still have family who live there, in Hell's Kitchen?" Steve said without looking up.

"Hmm?" It took a minute for Bucky to return from his thoughts and try to formulate a response. "Uh, had, but everyone's gone now. Least anyone that cared. I remember my dad more than my mom, but there's not much to remember. Was three when we lost Ma to TB." Bucky's voice lowered, but he kept going now that he had started. "They wouldn't let me see her, too dangerous for a baby and all. My pop left us at the neighbor's for two months and when he finally came back, I knew what had happened."

Steve bit his lip and curled back into Bucky's chest. "I know what that's like. But, I guess, not really. It took six months, but Mom came home. She looked so much older than when she left, or maybe I didn't remember her right. I used to read to her when I got home from school, 'cause she'd get tired real easy in the middle of the day."

Steve fidgeted with the edge of the sheet beneath them when he talked about his family. "They moved to Scarsdale when I was 16, to keep her from getting worse again. Less smog, more fresh air. I stayed here for school and all. Dad takes good care of her."

"My pop… ha, I might have known him longer, but I knew him even less." A harsh laugh escaped Bucky’s lips, his chest moving sharply as he heard himself continue, unable to stop. "Not big on talking, sometimes a little too big on hitting. Temper got the better of him in the end, though. Good old fashioned heart attack." When it happened, Bucky remembered feeling relieved instead of sad. It took effort to hold that less-than-Christian thought back, considering the way more words were falling out of him than he think he had ever put together. Something about Steve made him feel like he could share almost anything.

"Me and my sister got shipped off to my aunt's in Queens but she couldn't stand us. Becca was alright, but me, I kept getting in to trouble, runnin' back to the old neighborhood whenever I could." Bucky shrugged, like even he didn't know why he had done it. "When I tried to sneak back in the window one night, she had shut it and told me to stop coming back, so I did."

"So you've been on your own for…"

"Six years. Sometimes I'd get rounded up in an orphanage or they'd try to drop my on my aunt's doorstep again but that never lasted too long." Bucky's face remained impassive. He'd had enough years to get used to it and lock the worst of those memories away.

"Damn, Bucky, I -"

"It is what it is." He smiled affectionately at Steve and smoothed a hand over his face to make him stop worrying. "Maybe if I'd had a friend like you when I was a kid... I don't know, things would be different. Coulda used some one to look up to."

Steve pushed away from his chest again to gape at him comically, trying to keep Bucky smiling when he looked at him. "A shrimp like me? Realize you would have been looking down all of the time? Even if we were kids. Even if I am older than you."

"Not what I meant." Bucky left it at that and ran his fingers through Steve's hair. They settled back into a comfortable silence before Steve spoke up.

"When's your birthday?" Steve knew he was older, more than a little. Bucky knew he knew. But having it spelled out for him like that might make it too hard to ignore.

He squeezed his eyes shut before peeking down at Steve. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"March 10th, 1922. Your turn." He figured if he said it fast enough, Steve wouldn't catch the last year and it would be fine. Bucky could read his face and know that hadn't worked.

Steve bit his lip and swallowed hard, probably running the calculations of how old that made him. He waited for the other shoe to drop, for Steve to push him out or something but it didn't come. "July 4th, 1917."

Bucky was so braced for the worst that when he heard that, he couldn't stop laughing, full blown hysterics. He rolled over on to his back as he sputtered out between gulps of air, "All-American, proud patriot, apple-pie eating Steve Rogers was born on the 4th of July." He tried to but once he started, he couldn't stop.

Steve kept pushing him and punching him playfully until he calmed down enough to breathe.

Bucky wrapped his hand around his arm, clutching in mock pain. "Hey! I deserve to know who I'm getting involved with, too. Just didn't realize it was Yankee Doodle."

"You get one more and that's it." When he turned to look at him, Steve had a stern expression that settled him. When they were laying down, eye-to-eye, he didn't notice as much how short or slim Steve was. He didn't quite appear the clueless-looking kid Bucky first met either. Steve looked like the man he was, with more backbone than anyone would ever give him credit for.

Bucky moistened his lips and rested his forehead on Steve's bare shoulder. "Nah, I think I'll save it for next time."

"There's gonna be a next time?" Steve's tone was facetious but the stiffening on his shoulders broadcast the insecurity at the heart of the question. "You're not gonna make me wait another month?"

He threw an arm around Steve and pulled him in close, imagining that with enough contact, he could push the insecurities out of both of them. Bucky was at least more experienced and convincing when it came to faking confidence. "Yeah, there's gonna be a next time and a time after that and after that. I don't think you'll get rid of me so easy anymore. You're gonna regret it."

Steve smiled begrudgingly as Bucky placed small kisses along his collarbone. He could feel the chill on Steve's exposed skin. The sensation brought him right back to his first night here. He had been so cold sitting outside, especially his hands with no gloves for protection, only his thin jacket pockets. He remembered the way they warmed and regained feeling once he was inside the small apartment, tracing his icy fingertips over the drawings on the wall. He ran his fingers over Steve's cool skin in a light pattern. Even though winter was over, it seemed Steve still needed someone to keep him warm.

"Think maybe we should get under the covers?" Steve agreed and they separated, each standing on one side of the bed as they pulled the sheets back and got back in the bed. The action felt so formal compared to the previous times they had fallen into the bed and they laid back down awkwardly, both staring at the ceiling.

The sun had disappeared from the room quickly as it fell behind buildings, giving the room a hazy twilight. It was early enough that they probably should have eaten something, but he just wanted to use that time to hold Steve more. He wanted to believe that he wouldn't eventually have to let him go. He wanted to believe he wouldn't fuck this up and that he could do this as many times as he wanted for as long as Steve would let him.

Steve continued to stare at the ceiling, motionless, when he asked, "You gonna stay?"

Bucky forced his body to relax. This wasn't falling asleep accidentally or in exchange for services provided. Steve was asking would he do the same thing he did the last time he slept in that bed, try to leave without telling him. Would he stay through the morning? It was becoming a habit for Bucky, to nestle his nose in the crook of Steve's neck, to get as close as he could, where Steve couldn't look at him but would feel him. Once he was tight against Steve's side, he nodded.

 

 

When Steve woke up, Bucky wasn't already gone and he wasn't standing at the door either. He was right against him, a warm and heavy arm thrown over Steve's chest. His arm was dark against Steve's pale sunken chest, tanned and muscled from working and living outdoors. Between allergies and illnesses, Steve grew up spending most of his time inside, which had at least given him plenty of time to develop his art skills. He ran his fingertips along Bucky's skin to make sure it was real and not a dream.

The ticklish sensation made Bucky curl closer to him. Steve looked over at the boy sleeping next to him, studying his half-parted lips and the way his dark eyelashes stood out against his cheeks. He looked almost as young as he had outside on the steps, except now he knew exactly how young that was. Steve could have let it bother him but he took into consideration how fast the world had forced him to grow up. Bucky had taken care of himself for this long, he deserved someone who could take care of him, at least as much as he'd let him. He shuddered with a small nervous giggle, not exactly sure what he signed up for. The movement caused Bucky to stir next to him.

"Hmm…" Bucky rolled over on to his back with a slow groan. Laying side-by-side didn't leave much room on the bed, even with their sides tightly pressed together. Without looking down, Bucky reached for Steve's hand and intertwined their fingers.

"So."

"So."

Bucky sighed loudly, always frustrated by silence. "For someone with so much experience, I sure don't know what the hell I'm doing now."

"Look at you, finally acting your age," Steve teased.

Bucky rolled back over to jab Steve in the arm lightly without having to break their hands apart. He might have pulled his punches, like he wasn't going to test how much Steve could take after seeing him beat up once already, but otherwise Steve felt on much more even footing with Bucky than he had anytime before. Bucky looked out the window, the sun already high in the sky. But he also looked back down at Steve, in a way that made Steve feel warmer than the sunlight did.

It lasted for only a moment before he pushed himself off the bed and headed towards the bathroom to retrieve his clothes. "I'm gonna be late," he called from the other room, pulling the same dirty shirt over his head.

Steve gnawed on his lips, trying to push down his insecurities. "Thought most of your work took place at night."

"It takes a lot of things to make a living. The more I work at lashing, the less I have to at…" He re-entered the main room, buttoning his pants as he walked. "And the earlier you get there, the more likely you are to get work."

"Yeah, no, I get it," Steve mumbled, thinking it over. Bucky grabbed an apple from a basket on the counter and Steve nodded that it was fine to take it. "But, maybe now that you have somewhere to stay? You won't need to..." He trailed off, not wanting to bring up Bucky's more specific source of income again.

"I can't let you do that, Steve. Your parents didn't give you a place and college money so you could become some low-rent sugar daddy." Steve knew it was written plainly on his face how disappointed he was. He somehow believed it would be that simple to change Bucky's situation. Bucky tried to reassure him. "A night here and there, a bite to eat, nothing too crazy."

It wasn't enough and Steve's head fell forward, nervously running his fingers through his hair. It wasn't like he would have asked some other stranger to move in that quickly, but he didn't think of it as moving in. It was different when he didn't know if Bucky had anywhere else to go. Taking Steve's help couldn't be worse than sleeping at the Salvation Army or in a doorway. "Bucky…" he sighed, exasperated and muddled about what was going on. When he looked up again, Bucky was already there, ready with another kiss.

"I told you I'd be back around. I'll stay again. Soon. I just - independence matters, yeah? And it's going to take some adjusting." He gave Steve one last kiss before slipping the apple in his pocket and headed out the door. "Soon."

When Bucky closed the door behind him, Steve got up to set the lock, realizing for the first time how exposed he was, still naked from the night before. He broke out into a strange shaky laughter. _Adjusting_ didn't come close.


End file.
